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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088453">Sugar and Ink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackm00n5/pseuds/blackm00n5'>blackm00n5</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kisses, M/M, baker Nicky, internalized homophbia, meet cute? Sort of?, mild religious introspection, tattoo artist joe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:48:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackm00n5/pseuds/blackm00n5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a lifetime of struggling to reconcile his religion with his sexuality, Nicky decides to get a tattoo to celebrate more or less coming to terms with himself.</p><p>Except his tattoo artist is really hot. </p><p>[AKA: The Tattoo artist/Baker AU no one but me asked for.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Old Guard Big Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! A couple notes, first off! </p><p>Firstly, I had a lot of help from mahotsukaiat23 over on Tumblr in regards to Joe and Muslim beliefs, as I am not Muslim and do not know much about the practices. Thank you so much for your patience! I really appreciate it, and please if anyone who is Muslim notices I've written something incorrect, let me know so I can either change it or delete it entirely. Since this fic focuses heavily on Nicky's religion, I felt it was important to make sure Joe's was also referenced and respected.</p><p>And secondly, this is my first time writing for The Old Guard, so I hope I handled my hold on the characters well enough. I hope you all enjoy! And please let me know if I've missed any tags!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nicky let out a slow breath, wiping the back of his wrist over his forehead. It was a cool day - most days in England were - but the heat of the oven and the constant movement of rolling dough out was leaving him overheated. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the ache in his muscles. For a brief moment, he considered just leaving the pastry as it was, it was thin enough. But, that thought was quickly squashed out by the voice of his Nona demanding that ‘thin enough’ wasn’t going to cut it in her bakery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And while this was not his Nona’s bakery, he was loath to disappoint her. The shop had been modeled entirely after her’s, after all. Everything from the flowers in the window to the soft cushioned seats to the old brick oven in the kitchen had been inspired by the very bakery Nicky had grown up in, the one where he had learned how to bake in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Nicky sighed, stretching his arms out before he grabbed the rolling pin and got back to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already made enough to keep the display cases stocked for the next two days.” Booker said from the entryway into the kitchen, startling Nicky just enough for him to jump slightly, but not enough to disrupt his rhythm. “What’re you overthinking?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky pressed his lips together, faltering only momentarily in his rolling before he continued on. It was annoying, sometimes, how well Booker knew him. How he could take one look at the mess in Nicky’s usually fairly neat kitchen and know there was something on his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Nicky’s mind, a lot that he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain. He’d never been the best with words. He tried to keep things short and to the point, getting his meaning across as efficiently as possible. But, that was difficult to do with more emotional concepts. He’d been struggling to put it into a way he, himself, could understand for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growing up strictly Catholic hadn’t necessarily been a bad thing. His parents and his grandparents had always been firm believers of spreading good will and peace, of being kind and forgiving. But while his family had always been forgiving of those they believed to have lost their way, they still thought of them as</span>
  <em>
    <span> lost.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When Nicky was fourteen, when he sat too close to the boy in his science class and felt his chest tighten up, he knew what his parents would think. And somehow, knowing they would grieve for him losing his way as opposed to outright hating him felt worse. Knowing they would think he was confused, knowing they wouldn’t believe him when he insisted it was just a part of who he was made him ache like nothing else ever could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he had ignored it. Had tried to push it down as far as he could because he refused to be looked at with that kind of pity. Refused to be treated as if he were ill or didn’t know any better. He knew his parents meant well, he knew they were more misguided than cruel, but he refused to be the subject of those narrow minded attempts at guidance. He fought it, tried to pretend that part of him just...didn’t exist. It was part of why he had moved out to England from Italy, trying to get away from the constant weight of his Church, trying to escape the scrutiny he knew was all inside his head because they had no clue what he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it had taken a long time to reach this point. A lot of self reflection, a lot of long nights staring at the simple gold cross he had from his confirmation. Three years in England before he was able to say, out loud, that he was gay, another two before he genuinely believed he was not a disgrace to his faith. And he wanted something to show for it. Wanted something to remind him, something he could look at and remember that he was who he was because God made him this way. Because he knew this strength would falter, he knew he would have days where he wondered, where he questioned it. He had come a long way and he needed something to prove it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want a tattoo.” He finally said, too long after Booker asked the question and with an odd sense of finality to his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Booker said, after another long moment of silence, and the tension in the air broke. Nicky could breathe properly despite not realizing he hadn’t been able to, before. “Okay, I can work with that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky raised a brow, setting his rolling pin to the side as he turned to face Booker. He watched as Booker went to hop up onto the counter. Booker gestured vaguely with the book in his hand - an old copy of Dracula - as if that would explain what he meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I was expecting, but wanting a tattoo is easy to handle.” He clarified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky pressed his lips together, wiping his flour covered hands on the apron wrapped around his waist just for something to do. His confusion must have been clear on his face, because Booker chuckled and shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been going non-stop for the past three days.” He said. “You’ve barely been to the front, we’ve got enough made that we’ll need to be a little slow for the rest of the week or else we’ll end up having to throw a bunch away. You only get like this when something is on your mind. I was worried it was something a little more serious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s brows furrowed a bit, a little defensive. “It is serious.” He insisted, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if he didn’t really know how to explain why, and Booker held his hands up in surrender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it is. I just meant you had me worried about you, that’s all.” He amended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky softened a bit, that defensive tension draining out of him. He sighed, reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose and thoroughly unbothered by the flour it left on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I know someone.” Booker continued. Nicky’s head popped right back up, his curiosity piqued. “An old friend. Her and her partner have a shop not far from here. I can send you a link to their website.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky nodded, not even needing to think about it. He trusted Booker not to send him to some hack job - Booker’s own tattoos were beautiful, after all - and even if he did, Nicky had every intention of doing research beforehand. Looking through their work, seeing if he liked it before he let them put something permanently onto his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” He said, offering a smile. Then, he pushed off the counter and gestured at Booker. “Now get off my counter.” He demanded. Booker raised his hands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t even using it!” He demanded, but Nicky was already turned back to his dough.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Joe was young, just a child with some dull crayons and a piece of paper and he had first dreamed of being an artist one day, this wasn’t actually what he had intended. He had expected something more...dramatic. Romanticized. Large windows with sunshine washing over easels and canvases. Smudges of paint and oils and charcoal on his skin and old shirts covered in stains. He had never imagined sitting in this shop, using a needle to paint gorgeous pieces of art onto people’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he didn’t have the easels and paint stains and sketch pads. He certainly did, an entire room in his home that he considered his studio, with three large windows and bright lights and paint stained onto the floor and walls. Most of his waking hours not spent at the shop were spent in that studio. Some of his pieces were hanging on the walls in the shop, in between the photos of his and Andy’s tattoos that were also on display. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped his fingers on the desk, lounged with one foot up on the desk and the other planted on the floor as he examined the email. It was...curt. Very professional, getting the point across very succinctly. Joe was a bit impressed with it, considering most of the emails they received didn’t even have a greeting. This email had come in three days before, with a brief explanation of having been referred by his friend and that he had looked through their website before ultimately deciding to come in. Another, just as brief, description of this being his first tattoo, and that while he didn’t know what he wanted it to actually look like he absolutely knew what he wanted it to mean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, Joe’s curiosity was piqued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head popped up when he heard three knocks on the half opened door. Andy popped her head in, arm above her and resting on the doorjamb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consultation is here.” She said, gesturing down the short hallway with her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe nodded, pulling his foot off the desk so he could stand. He stretched his arms above his head, following her out into the hallway to get to their lobby. The man waiting for him was, to be perfectly frank, beautiful. The angle he was standing at, hands resting in the pockets of his jacket, Joe could see broad shoulders and based on how loose his shirt got, a tapered waist. Lean, but he didn’t seem to be lacking muscle. A beautiful little mole on his jaw and even from here, Joe could see strikingly pale eyes. Joe straightened up a bit as he walked closer, thoroughly ignoring Andy’s quiet snort of amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky?” Joe asked as he approached, and the man met his gaze and nodded once. Joe was a bit taken aback by just how amazing those eyes were. He had seen them from across the room, of course, but up close was something else entirely. Bright and pale, somewhere between blue, green and grey. They both reached out, meeting halfway to shake hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joe?” Nicky asked. “I saw some of your work on your website. It was remarkable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, eyes widening briefly before he turned to look at Andy where she was now leaning over a sketch at the front desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours was, as well, of course. I mean no offense.” He amended. Andy glanced up at him, her brow quirking up in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize.” she said, waving him off and turning her attention back to her sketch. “Different artists have different styles. You liking Joe’s more than mine isn’t an insult” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky seemed to visibly relax at that, and Joe couldn’t help but grin. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone do that, seen a customer try to assure him or Andy that they didn’t dislike their work. It was sweet, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, your email was...vague.” Joe said, hands slipping into his pockets. Nicky winced a bit, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it...I figured it would be easier to explain in person.” He said, rubbing at the back of his neck. Joe nodded, gesturing to the seats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settled down, Joe angling himself so he was more or less facing Nicky. Joe offered a little grin, taking a moment to examine Nicky’s face as he settled down. He really was remarkably handsome, with soft looking hair and a sharp jaw and an accent that gave a soft lull to his voice. Italian, if Joe were to hazard a guess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. You know what you want your tattoo to represent, then?” Joe asked, once it seemed Nicky was settled and comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky nodded, licking at his lips as he glanced around the shop before looking at Joe, again. He shifted,  then set his jaw and straightened up a bit in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have...struggled with finding a middle ground between my religion and my sexuality for...most my life.” He began, and Joe was a bit shocked by the forwardness. He’d done a handful of tattoos for similar situations, and it often took a good bit of circle talk before his customer got to the point.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair to assume you have at least come closer to finding that middle ground?” He asked, when Nicky didn’t continue. Nicky’s brows were furrowed, like he was trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say. He nodded, gesturing vaguely with a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe God creates his children a certain way for a reason.” Nicky said. “I was made this way because it’s how He wanted me to be. My faith does not need to be compromised because I accept who I am.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe’s smile softened, and he was a little surprised by the little jump in his heart. Nicky seemed so painfully genuine in his belief, so simplistically honest in a way that Joe wasn’t quite used to and it was kind of making him a little dizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Based on that, I’m guessing you’d like a tattoo that represents that?” He asked, after a moment. Once he had collected himself again. Nicky nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not entirely sure what I expect it to look like,” Nicky said, lips pressing together. “But I’d like it to include a cross and something that references pride. I guess a rainbow would be the easiest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe hummed, nodding. He shifted, reaching for one of the binders on the coffee table and flicking through it. Nicky shifted closer, leaning over to look at the binder with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve done my share of cross tattoos,” Joe mused, and he grinned when he heard Nicky hum a laugh in response. “We can find a general design for one you like and I’ll sketch up a few concepts for you to look at, and we can go from there?” He offered, lifting his head to look at Nicky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Nicky looked up to meet his eyes, he offered a bright, eager smile, and Joe was fairly certain he stopped breathing. His chest tightened up, heart pounding loud enough to echo in his head. Of course, he had noticed how handsome Nicky was immediately, but that smile? It was bright, it was so unbelievably beautiful and for perhaps the first time in his life, Joe wasn’t sure how to react to such beauty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe had never been one to be completely overcome by attractive individuals. Andy liked to call him a flirt, and he’d never had a problem charming someone he might be interested in. The picture of confidence. He knew he was, objectively speaking, a decently attractive man, and speaking had never been difficult for him. But somehow, the way Nicky smiled at him made him forget how to form words, at all. He was gorgeous, his eyes pale and striking, his lips curving beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe wanted to draw him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe shook himself out of his daze when he heard Andy barely smother a snort. Nicky was back to looking at the binder, and Joe took the chance to glower at Andy, the heat rising on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’d like the cross itself to be simple. Looking like it’s made of wood.” Nicky said slowly, his fingers brushing over a picture of one such tattoo in the binder. Joe hummed, scratching at his beard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m no expert on Catholic belief, but simplicity over extravagance makes sense.” He said, his tone light. Nicky’s lips quirked into a soft smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant or to put their hope in wealth,” he breathed out, more to himself than to Joe  Then, he winced and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I usually try not to get so...preachy with strangers. Feels a little rude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe smiled, waving him off. “It’s fine. Your tattoo will be religious, there’s nothing wrong with you talking about that religion when it’s clearly important to you. That’s a bible verse, I’m guessing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Timothy 6:17.” Nicky confirmed, nodding and offering another little smile. “...Are you religious?” He added after a moment. His tone shy, hesitant. Like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask. Joe’s nose scrunched up, and he rubbed at the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was raised Muslim.” He said. “And there was a bit of tension between me and my family, for a bit. The...short and vastly over simplified version is that tattoos are frowned upon but not unforgivable and my family wanted me to be certain of what I was doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was...odd. Joe had been asked similar questions before. People asking about religion in general and others asking about his beliefs in more pointed ways. But Joe wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone who seemed as genuinely curious as Nicky. Nicky was offering his full attention, seemed to be paying almost rapt attention to his answer. Not just hearing the answer, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>listening</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe ducked his head briefly, scratching at his beard before meeting Nicky’s gaze again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, here and now isn’t the time or place to get into some deep, philosophical exposition about my relationship with religion.” He said, and Nicky’s lips quirked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, only time for a deep, philosophical exposition about </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> relationship with religion.” He countered, and Joe felt a laugh burst out of him before he could even think to stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Exactly. So where were you thinking of getting it?” Joe asked as Nicky looked down again to examine another design in the binder. Nicky licked at his lips, lifting his hand to brush his thumb under his nose in a bashful way. It made Joe’s stomach flip pleasantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t actually know.” He admitted, looking up at Joe through his lashes. “Somewhere easy to see. I’m done with hiding, I want it to be seen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, warmth washed over Joe and he felt his chest go tight. His own journey with his sexuality had been, thankfully, quick and easy. He had been young, and he had brought it up to his parents the same week he first realized he had started up a crush on another boy on his football team. They hadn’t necessarily understood, at first, but he had been accepted readily. And Joe knew that the unfortunate reality was that Nicky’s story was far more common than his own. So many people struggled with learning to accept themselves. In fact, this wasn’t the first tattoo Joe had done to commemorate someone coming to terms with who they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe nodded, holding his arm out and using his other hand to rub up over his forearm. Over the elaborate bouquet of green winged orchids, sea heath and common primroses sitting inside the ornate clay vase his grandfather had made for his grandmother. Pinks and purples and yellows from his own painting - the same one hanging on the wall behind him - just as he remembered them on his grandmother’s table. Andy had been tentative, at first, trying to put Joe’s own work on his arm, but both she and Joe had been delighted with the end result. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right here is your best bet, then.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky inhaled, as if taken aback by the tattoo, and he reached towards Joe’s arm only to pause before he could touch him. As if catching himself. It left him with his hand hovering a few inches above the brightly colored art inked into Joe’s skin. Joe left his arm out, giving Nicky the time to properly examine it. When Nicky looked up again, Joe saw those pretty eyes lock onto the canvas on the wall behind him instead of him, and he watched as the recognition lit up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The painting means something to you?” He asked, eyes flicking from the painting back to Joe’s face. Joe smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I painted it.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s eyes went wide, and he slowly lifted to his feet. He stepped right around the coffee table, passing by Joe to go look at the painting. Again, his hand lifted up towards the painting and again, he stopped himself before actually touching it. Joe shifted, turning so he could watch him. His arm lifted up, resting on the back of the couch as he watched Nicky examine the piece. This was one of Joe’s favorite parts of having his own work in the shop. It was one thing to be complimented on the tattoos he did, people came in here specifically because they knew he could do a tattoo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But more traditional art was very different from tattoos. Being good at one did not necessarily mean you would be good at the other. Just as being good at sketching with a pencil did not mean you would be good with oil paints. And Joe had certainly had to listen to people tell him how tattoo artists aren’t even ‘real’ artists. So telling people that every single piece of traditional art - from the paintings to the sketches to the clay statuette on Andy’s desk - had been done by him? Seeing the shock, then the fascination and awe on their faces as they took it in? It was amazing. It was one of the best feelings in the world, to have his hard work be recognized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is beautiful.” Nicky breathed out, dropping his hand down and turning to look at Joe. Joe smiled at him, perking up as he basked in the compliment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He pushed to his feet, turning to look at the painting, again. “It was the first one I did when I moved to England. A little piece of home to have with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piece of home?” Nicky asked, turning his attention back to the painting. Joe hummed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather made that pot. A gift for my grandmother. And these were her favorite flowers.  I was feeling exceptionally lonely and decided to try to make my place feel a little more like home.” He shrugged, his smile softening. He could see Nicky’s own expression soften, and his hand lifted to touch the cross hanging from his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bakery is modeled entirely after my grandmother’s.” He said, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile faltered, briefly, and he touched the place on his forearm that he would be getting his tattoo. Joe couldn’t be sure, but he had the distinct feeling Nicky was thinking how his grandmother would react. Either to the tattoo, or the meaning behind it. Joe was tempted to reach out, to touch his shoulder and try to offer some form of comfort. But, Nicky was still all but a stranger to him and besides that, Joe didn’t even know if his assumption was the correct one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Joe just pushed his hands into his pockets, giving Nicky a moment before he turned to face him more fully with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I have your email, I’ll sketch up a few designs for you and we can go from there?” He offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky snapped back to attention, looking back at Joe once more. He smiled - again making Joe’s stomach flip - and he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you.” He agreed, still smiling brightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shook hands once more before Nicky left, and Joe was left standing in the middle of the lobby staring at the door. It was silent for a long moment, Joe just looking at the door with a tiny quirk to his lips. Then, he heard a little snort of amusement and he jerked to look at Andy, having completely forgotten she was there. She was leaned on the desk, her chin resting in her hand and the corner of her mouth quirked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so fucked.” She said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe didn’t give her the gratification of a response.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nicky loved the little nursery across the street from his bakery. The woman who owned it - a beautiful Vietnamese woman who spoke a handful of languages and always welcomed Nicky in with a kind smile and an offer for a cup of tea - had come to greet him the day he opened his bakery. She brought a little pot of cyclamens and had welcomed him openly. They now had a solid system of Nicky paying for fresh herbs with fresh pastries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He entered the nursery, immediately struck with the scent of fresh water, soil and flowers. Quynh looked up from the flowers she was watering when she heard the bell, and she smiled at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon.” She greeted, placing her watering can off to the side as she turned to face him. Nicky smiled at her, stepping close and leaning in to kiss her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buonasera, come stai?” He answered, touching her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m well, thank you for asking. Polite as ever.” She mused, returning the sweet kiss. “Are you here for aesthetics or for flavor?” She nudged him sweetly with her shoulder as she went over to the main counter. Nicky chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit of both.” Nicky followed her, chewing at his bottom lip as he looked off to the side. “I’ve, uh...I was actually hoping for a bit of advice, as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quynh’s brows raised, and she leaned forward on the counter to give Nicky her full attention. Eyes lighting up, clearly intrigued. Nicky licked at his lips, hand lifting until he could brush his thumb under his nose as he stared at the vase of pink roses on the counter instead of Quynh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I decided I wanted to get a tattoo. Booker recommended the shop he goes to...” Nicky began, and Quynh made an understanding noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s two of them there. I am assuming you saw Joe?” She asked with a knowing glint in her eyes that made Nicky feel uncomfortably seen. “He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky felt his ears go red, felt the uncomfortable tension in his gut he hadn’t quite gotten over, yet, and he licked at his lips while refusing to look at Quynh. The flush on his ears spread down over his neck when Quynh hummed a little laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He…” Nicky’s voice faltered and he winced. Then, he sighed - almost in defeat - and rubbed a hand over his face. “Quynh, he’s gorgeous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it felt so good to say it. It felt so unbelievably freeing to admit he found a man as beautiful as he thought Joe was. He had been striking to look at, with dark eyes that crinkled when he smiled and an energy about him that drew Nicky in. Broad shoulders and large hands and a softness to him that he seemed shameless in as he had talked about his art. Nicky wished he could be like that, he wished he could be as easy with his speech and as open with his vulnerabilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, perhaps it was wrong to consider that softness a vulnerability. After all, it took a certain strength to allow people to see you like that. Especially for a man, living in a world where being anything that didn’t fit into this ridiculous, completely fabricated standard of masculinity made people look down on you. But, despite Nicky knowing it was stupid and artificial, he couldn’t help but want to adhere to what the world expected of him. He admired Joe, admired that he seemed so easy and eager to share those soft parts of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was part of why Nicky was already so enamored with him, despite how brief their meeting had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve met him a few times,” Quynh mused. Which made sense, considering the beautiful butterfly tattoo on her shoulder - a Parides Agavus, she had told him once. - and the delicate little infinity symbol on her thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me he did one of the paintings in the lobby,” Nicky said, and he almost winced at the vaguely dreamy tone to his voice. “It was beautiful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one do you mean? He did all of them.” Quynh waved him off, straightening up and turning so she could start gathering up some of the herbs Nicky would be leaving with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just continuing on as if she hadn’t just rocked Nicky’s entire world, as if she hadn’t just upended everything and left him gaping at her. Nicky had spent a fair few minutes examining the art on the walls, the canvases scattered in between the displays of tattoos. Different styles, different subjects. Each one unique and each one gorgeous. Perhaps Nicky shouldn’t have been surprised, maybe it was stupid to be shocked by knowing all of that beauty had come from the hands of a beautiful man. Even still, being told straight out that all of it had been done by him was making Nicky feel dizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was dragged back to reality when he heard Quynh laugh, his eyes snapping back into focus to look at her. She seemed delighted, her brow raised as she looked back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you ask him out?” She suggested, as if Nicky were stupid for not bringing it up, already. Nicky’s eyes went wide, his throat closing up at just the idea of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quynh.” He said, voice flat and not at all matching the pure panic on his face. “I have met this man once. Finding him handsome is one thing, but asking him out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quynh sighed, shaking her head before turning back to the plants. Frankly speaking, Nicky didn’t understand how she could be so unconcerned by the idea. He had only just met Joe, had spoken to him for about twenty minutes, altogether. Trying to ask him out was...too much. Even if Nicky had the experience to know what he was doing, this was far too soon. It wasn’t likely to evolve, anyway. He would go in only once or twice more, he would get his tattoo done and would likely never see the man again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he really didn’t want to linger on why that idea made his chest tighten up uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is how you meet people, Nicky. You talk, you ask to keep talking.” Quynh said, in that pointed, loving tone that Nicky had always thought sounded like his mother when she was trying to guide her children down the correct path. Patient, but still firm. She turned back to him, a bundle of herbs in her hands. She handed the bundle over, and Nicky sighed as he took it. The fight draining from him like it always did when Quynh pulled that tone with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He said, absently reaching to neaten up the already neat bundle of herbs he had been handed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why won’t you do it?” Quynh asked, her voice going a little softer. Nicky’s lips pressed together, then shrugged a bit as his brows furrowed together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Nicky didn’t actually have an answer for that. Because Quynh was absolutely right. This was how you made friends. You met someone, spoke to them. Then if it went well, you asked if you could keep talking. Even ignoring the initial, shallow attraction Nicky felt, this was how he would need to go ahead and be friends with Joe. The attraction might fade, it might not, but either way he would never know if he didn’t bother trying to be his friend. And he certainly could deal with more friends. Booker was a good friend, most of the time, and Quynh was certainly close. Even the young lady working here at Quynh’s shop, with her apiary in the green house and sharp wit, he would consider a friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Nona had always told him he was too solitary for his own good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it.” He finally said, after far too long in silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quynh regarded him for another long moment, then nodded once. She reached to place a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to press a sweet little kiss to his cheek. Nicky leaned into it, and he offered a little smile when she pulled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bring some proper bouquets over, later.” She promised, though Nicky was certain she hadn’t completely dropped the subject. He nodded, touching her hip gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He squeezed gently, then stepped back and turned so he could leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to ignore the way he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as he left.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was five days later then Nicky was walking back into that tattoo shop. He and Joe had exchanged a handful of emails, with Joe asking a couple more questions before sending three sketches he had done. It was the second design Nicky had fallen in love with, and Joe had seemed delighted with his eagerness. Though, talking over email made it a little harder to tell how genuine that was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The design was relatively simple, all things considered. The cross itself was basic, a wooden cross with rope tied around the juncture where one piece crossed over the other and circled with a barbed vine in reference to the crown of thorns. At the base, it had dirt and rubble to look as if it were stuck right into the ground. And then, across the horizontal bar of the cross, a sash. The ends draped over either end of the cross, and the colors of the rainbow fading into each other across the length of fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Nicky loved it. On the surface level, the art itself was beautiful. Joe had mentioned it was just a sketch, and he could neaten it up and correct mistakes before presenting him with the final piece, but even this was gorgeous. The grain of the wood detailed enough to seem real, the folds and shading in the fabric, how the dirt and rocks at the base were sparse but enough to clearly indicate it was stuck into the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was the fact that it perfectly encapsulated what Nicky wanted it to mean. Nicky wanted the tattoo to remind himself that he was exactly as he was supposed to be. That his desire to love another man did not make him a disgrace. Being good for the sake of being good, loving for the sake of love, that was all God wanted from his children. Not because of some promise of a reward, but because it was the right thing to do. And why should that not extend to himself? Why should he not love and accept himself if he knew he would love and accept anyone else? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he walked into the building, it was much like the first time. Joe was nowhere to be seen, and Andy was sitting behind the front desk with her feet up on the desk as she flicked through her phone. She glanced up when the little bell above the door rang, and she grinned at him as she pulled her feet down so she could sit up properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Joe’s finishing up with another client.” She said, leaning an elbow on the desk and resting her chin in her hand. “It’s difficult to get exact timing in our business.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine, I don’t mind waiting.” Nicky answered, giving a little smile. Andy seemed more amused by the response than anything else. She had a knowing type of smile, like she knew everything Nicky had been thinking about since he’d first walked in and was just waiting to see how it all unfolded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky wouldn’t be surprised if she did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw his design. It’s good. What you wanted?” Andy asked him, and Nicky perked up a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” He agreed, nodding eagerly. “It is exactly what I was looking for. He did a beautiful job, I can’t wait to see the final design.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andy seemed pleased with his answer, though still a little amused. She straightened up a bit, brushing a hand through her hair as she glanced towards the small hallway that led to their tattoo chairs. Then she looked at Nicky again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does his best work when there’s meaning behind it.” She said. “On the professional level? Tattoo artists don’t give a shit what kind of basic bitch tattoo you want so long as you can pay for it. But on a personal level? A lot of us hate it. White people coming in asking for Chinese or Japanese script that they got off google translate or college kids who think they’re edgy for getting a little star or butterfly. Joe thrives on making real art, and to him that means something with a story to it. Even if that story is just how beautiful it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky hummed, and his eyes landed on the charcoal sketch hanging on the wall behind Andy. Stark, black lines on the white paper, showing a woman draped across a couch or chaise of some sort. And something about Andy’s phrasing struck him. ‘To him’. Changing the definition of ‘real art’ from a definitive to a perception. Nicky had never really put much thought into it, but he knew he had always considered true art to be a rather cut and dry sort of thing. Using that logic - using </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joe’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> logic - then perhaps even his baking could be considered art. After all, he took great pride in making his creations look perfect but more than that, they were important to him. It was a way for him to stay close to the family he often times felt so estranged from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He created it, and it meant something to him. Therefore, it was art. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you just had an epiphany.” Andy said, lips quirked and brow raised. Nicky blinked back into focus, not looking away from that charcoal drawing. He stayed silent for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I think perhaps I did.” He answered.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nicky sat and stared at the fresh ink on his inner arm. The light glared off the skin, and there was a dull ache throbbing under the skin, but Nicky wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier. Sitting under fluorescent lights as he stared at a piece of art forever embedded into his skin, a perfect mix of two parts of himself put there for the world to see. Nicky wanted to touch it, despite knowing it wasn’t exactly the best idea considering it had literally just been put there.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he could feel Joe’s eyes on him, watching him eagerly. Waiting for his response. He had been sitting there patiently for what must have been close to ten minutes as Nicky stared in awe at the tattoo. He couldn’t help but feel a little bad for how long he was letting the silence drag on. When he lifted his head to look at Joe, his eyes were wide and his lips were pulled up into a wide smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful.” He finally said. And it didn’t really feel like enough. It didn’t articulate how deeply he loved the gorgeous lines Joe had put onto his skin. But, Joe brightened up regardless. Smiling wide, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Nicky’s chest go tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you like it!” Joe said, finally pushing back up to his feet. Turning to start gathering up his equipment to clean it and throw away the garbage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it.” Nicky corrected, immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he couldn’t see Joe’s face, anymore, but he could see the way he all but bounced in his movements. His pleasure at knowing his work was appreciated was all but palpable, radiating off of him in the way he moved and how he held himself. And considering how overwhelmingly positive his energy already was, it was nearly blinding in the best way. And Nicky liked it. He liked the way it felt just to be near him, liked how Joe was able to keep him calm through the admittedly uncomfortable process of getting a tattoo. Liked the way Joe spoke easily and eagerly, the way he seemed to genuinely enjoy doing his job and how effortlessly he made Nicky trust him to do it well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could practically hear Quynh speaking to him. You can’t make friends unless you ask to keep talking. Just because Joe was, objectively, incredibly attractive it doesn’t mean Nicky would be crossing lines just because he wanted to keep talking, just because he wanted to be his friend. He licked at his lips, watching Joe disappear out the door briefly. It really was that easy, wasn’t it? It was how he’d become friends with Quynh. Returning to her charming little shop, talking to her and eventually asking to exchange numbers. Why should it be different just because Nicky thought Joe was handsome? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still pondering this when Joe came back into the room, not more than a minute later. He chewed at his bottom lip, head tilting slightly as he watched Joe. He was just about to force the words out of his mouth - though, he had no plans for what, exactly, he was going to actually say - when Joe turned his full attention to Nicky and smiled again. This smile was different, though. Still bright, still beautiful. It still made his eyes crinkle pleasantly, but it seemed...almost shy. The first bit of shyness Nicky had seen out of Joe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be nice to keep talking, I think. Outside of a business arrangement.” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Nicky’s brows furrowed, as if shocked by his immediate response. Blurted out almost before Joe had even stopped speaking. He’d be embarrassed, but that shyness in Joe’s face was gone and he was perking right back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to know I wasn’t crossing lines.” Joe said, as if not noticing how overly eager Nicky’s response was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky relaxed a little, his smile growing before he could think about it. It was good to know that Joe had been at least a little nervous, as well. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one who felt a little lost and unsure. He nodded, standing from his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t. This is how you make friends, isn’t it? By meeting, talking then asking to keep talking.” He said, quite sure that if Quynh were there then she would smack him. Would be calling him a hypocrite and every other dramatic response in the book. Perhaps he should make some banh tieu for her, even if he didn’t plan on telling her it was because he was using the very words she’d told him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That thought didn’t last long, though, because Joe’s smile seemed to grow. His eyes crinkled even more at the corners, and Nicky felt his chest tighten up even more. Joe seemed to absolutely glow with his happiness, it radiated off of him and Nicky couldn’t help but be drawn to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I’ve got your number and you should have mine. I’ll text you?” Joe offered, and that little bit of shyness was back. Mostly hidden under his bright smile and brighter eyes, but peeking in around the edges. Softening his gaze in a way that made Nicky feel a little heady, because he was causing that. A smile he couldn’t control tugged across his lips and he nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan.” Nicky answered.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t supposed to be just the two of them. The original plan had been more social, had been less intimate. Andy was supposed to join them, had agreed after laughing at the way Joe had all but begged her to join to keep this from seeming like some sort of uncomfortable attempt at a date with someone who had not agreed to a date. And when Joe had told Nicky, Nicky had offered to invite his friend Booker. It was supposed to be a very casual and open meeting between two pairs of friends, nothing overly personal or uncomfortable about it. Low obligation and low pressure, as Andy had said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, Joe was sitting across from Nicky in a little restaurant that doubled as a sports bar, all but hiding behind his soda as he watched the way Nicky’s nose scrunched up in annoyance as he glowered at the text message he’d received from Booker.  Nicky sighed, placing his phone down on the table and he lifted his eyes to meet Joe’s. The lighting was far dimmer than the tattoo shop, and somehow it made Nicky’s pale eyes even more bright and Joe almost didn’t notice that Nicky was starting to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Booker has unexpectedly been told he’s hosting his youngest son’s friends for a slumber party.” He said, lips pressing together as he looked at the glass of wine he had ordered. He looked vaguely conflicted, though Joe wasn’t sure what about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least your friend told you he couldn’t make it.” He said, shrugging as he gestured to his own phone. “Andy hasn’t answered me at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky chuckled, ducking his head briefly. Joe really had intended on letting this be a much less personal encounter. And sure, the little restaurant was an open area, had the feeling of a bar over a restaurant, it was overall a very casual place to be, but it was still just the two of them. And Joe felt a little guilty about how he wasn’t too bothered by that. Hell, he half suspected Andy bailing and ignoring him was very much on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence lingered, not exactly uncomfortable but certainly a little awkward. Nicky watching his wine glass and Joe watching Nicky. A group sitting a few tables away burst into loud cheers and laughter, and Joe could see Nicky flinch slightly. His hand tightening up around the stem of his glass and his shoulders lifting slightly. Joe licked at his lips, glancing around before leaning his elbows on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Andy and Booker aren’t going to join us, do you want to get out of here?” He asked, trying not to internally flinch at the way it sounded like a blatant come on. “Somewhere a little more quiet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the relief wash over Nicky’s face, watched his shoulders drop back down and his lips quirk into a little smile that softened his eyes. Nicky nodded, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dropped the cash for their drinks onto the table, sliding out of the booth and nearly bumping into each other in the process. Nicky ducked his head when they did, and Joe couldn’t help but smile. By the time they made it outside into the cool night air, Nicky seemed to have completely relaxed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where would you like to go, then?” Joe asked, hands slipping into his pockets. Nicky hummed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you drink coffee?” He asked. Joe nodded, but his nose scrunched up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. Nowhere worth a damn is open at this time, though.” He huffed, all but pouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...We could go to the bakery.” Nicky said after a brief pause. And while the words sounded perfectly, casually confident, there was a shyness to his face as he spoke. It made Joe’s throat close up, butterflies exploding in his gut in a way he really wasn’t used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s easier to get a good cup if you’re making it yourself.” Nicky added after a moment, and Joe realized he had spent far too long just gaping at him. He grinned, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s bakery was only about fifteen minutes away from the restaurant. Joe wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, really. Perhaps one of those impersonal, corporate looking places he usually stopped in when he was running late for work. White and grey, with artistic and aesthetic dashes of color. Square display cases and a loading dock in the back where prebaked goods were delivered every morning. Instead, he was led to a frankly quaint little brick building on the corner with ‘Di Genova Bakery’ written right on the wooden door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky unlocked the door, then he stepped aside to gesture Joe inside. Joe smiled at him as he passed, glancing around curiously. It was dark inside, but there was enough light from the streetlamps outside to get an idea of what it looked like. A couple tables, soft chairs, flowers in vases on the counters and potted plants in the windows. It felt welcoming, like walking into someone’s dining room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky passed him, gesturing for him to follow without bothering to turn the lights on. Joe hurried after him, grinning when he was led behind the main counter. It felt strange, really. Going behind the counter in a place of business he didn’t work at. They continued through the archway behind the counter, and Nicky flicked the lights in the kitchen as Joe followed through. It was just as quaint in here as it was out in the main room of the building. Brick walls and a brick oven, as well as two other ovens. Two large fridges and plenty of counter space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looked around as Nicky went to pull a coffee pot from it’s spot against the wall, digging around in one of the cupboards for the coffee grounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should only be a few minutes.” Nicky assured him as he got the coffee pot set up to start brewing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like this place.” Joe ended up saying, still glancing around the kitchen area. When he turned to look at Nicky again, Nicky’s looked distinctly pleased. His head held a little higher, pride shining in his eyes and it made Joe’s stomach twist up pleasantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad.” He said, taking the chance to look over his kitchen. His hand brushed over the counter, almost reverent, then he reached to brush his thumb over his bottom lip. “Do you want to try something?” He asked, gesturing to the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!” Joe said, immediately perking up and smiling brightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky seemed pleased with the response, already going to one of the fridges to pull it open. Joe shifted closer, peeking around him into the fridge. The first thing he  noticed was a large yellow cake covered in pink and purple flowers. He let out a little noise, eyes going wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A birthday cake.” Nicky said, glancing over his shoulder when he heard Joe make that little awed noise. “Booker did the butterfly on the top while I was doing the flowers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While?” Joe asked, brows furrowing. “How did you both have room to work on it?””</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it wasn’t exactly a tiny cake, it certainly wasn’t large enough for someone to put a design on the top while those flowers around the edges and sides were also being piped on. Nicky hummed while he grabbed a platter off of the shelf underneath the cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t.” He answered. “Booker worked on the cake itself. I did the flowers separately. You refrigerate the frosting to firm it up then transfer it to the cake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you do that?” Joe asked, brows furrowing. And he couldn’t deny the soft little smile on Nicky’s face made his chest warm. The way Nicky seemed more than eager to explain the process to him, how he smiled more and more with each added level of interest Joe showed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can put it on a sheet of wax paper. Once it’s cold and firm, you can use a fork or a small spatula to transfer it. I tend to use flower nails for it. Which is just a little stick you hold and put a square of wax paper on top, and can spin it to the angle you need more easily.” He explained, carefully putting his platter down on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And while Joe was fascinated with the flowers - because even though he wasn’t a baker and had no intention of starting, there was no denying the artistry of the cake he had just seen. It was beautiful, and Joe was always eager to learn how to create. - he was even more interested in the platter of pastries Nicky was pulling plastic wrap off of. He stepped closer, shoulder knocking into Nicky’s as he leaned over to examine the pastries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what are these?” He asked, grinning. Nicky placed the plastic wrap off to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sfogliatelle.” He answered, “My grandmother’s favorite. The first thing she ever let me make without her watching over me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They look delicious.” Joe said, fingers hovering over one of the pastries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky pulled the platter away from him, and for a moment Joe thought perhaps he had done something wrong. But, Nicky had an amused, almost mischievous glint in his eye. Nicky shook his head, gesturing to the pastries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They should be eaten warm.” He said. “Let me heat them up. One has a lemon filling and one has a coffee cream filling.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee pastry with my cup of coffee sounds perfect.” Joe said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky nodded, pulling two of the sfogliatelle off the platter and placing them on a plate. He put that plate into what looked to Joe like a glass case not unlike the display cases out front, just smaller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They really should be eaten right out of the oven.” Nicky explained as he replaced the plastic wrap around the platter. “But that’s not always feasible in a business setting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure your patrons will not begrudge you for not making everything you sell the day you sell it.” Joe said, brow quirking up. Nicky offered him one of those unimpressed but somehow vaguely amused looks before he returned the platter to it’s spot in the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandmother might materialize in the middle of my kitchen and smack me with a rolling pin, though.” Nicky said, closing the fridge and turning to lean back against it. Joe laughed, bright and it felt a bit too eager but Nicky offered that little grin of his, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned she also had a bakery?” He asked, head tilting, and Nicky nodded. Nicky’s face softened, eyes going a bit distant and glazed. And Joe watched as his fingers brushed over the tattoo on his forearm, not even seeming to realize he was doing it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She taught me. I grew up in her bakery.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still smiling, but it was smaller, now. Almost forlorn. And there was something so intimate about this moment. Standing in Nicky’s kitchen, watching him think about his grandmother’s teachings as the smell of fresh coffee filled the space between them and the sound of it brewing took over the silence. Standing there in a room that felt more a part of a home than a place of business, unable to look away from him because even without trying there was something so unbelievably beautiful about him. Again, the urge to draw him, to put his beauty down on paper for the world to see, crashed over Joe and he bit at his cheek to keep from blurting out something stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he shifted closer and held his arm out. The one with his grandmother’s flower pot tattooed onto it. Nicky took a moment to realize, but his eyes came into focus all at once and he glanced down at the tattoo for a long moment before meeting Joe’s gaze again. Joe smiled at him, then touched his fingers over the tattoo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mentioned my grandfather made this pot?” He said, and Nicky nodded. “He was a potter, by trade. My first ever piece of real, genuine art was an awful little plate shaped like a fish that he showed me how to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky reached towards the tattoo again, just like he had when he first saw it. Only this time, his hesitation only lasted a moment and he brushed his fingers over the vivid colors. Joe felt his skin catch fire, goosebumps rising up in the wake of Nicky’s fingers, and he forgot to breathe when Nicky met his gaze again with a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He taught me what art could really be. More than some crayons on a sheet of paper.” He continued, voice much more quiet than he had intended. Like he was telling some sort of secret. Nicky nodded once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think Nona was ever as proud of me as when I first made something, start to finish, without even considering a recipe.” He said. His smile grew with every word and Joe’s own smile grew to match. “Part memory, part intuition and part experiment. A blackberry, apple and thyme tart. Simple, but she still talks about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just stood there for a long moment, Joe’s arm stretched out and Nicky’s fingers brushing over the tattoo on his skin. Smiling at one another, leaning close like they’d been doing this for years. Butterflies running rampant in Joe’s stomach, making him queasy in the most pleasant way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Joe had the chance to say anything stupid, the coffee pot beeped to tell them it was finished. Nicky didn’t flinch, exactly, but he ducked his head again as he stepped away from Joe to go back to the coffee pot. Joe took a shaky, uneven breath as he lowered his arm, heart in his throat. It was so strange to feel like this, so out of his norm and he couldn’t tell if that was exciting or terrifying. Or perhaps a bit of both. Nervous and excited as if this were the first time he’d been around a boy he liked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you take your coffee?” Nicky’s voice broke him from his existential pondering and he licked at his lips, needing a moment to actually understand what was being asked of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Half a spoonful of sugar and some cream, please.” Joe said, and the corner of Nicky’s lips quirked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just enough to keep it from being so bitter it’s sour?” He asked, and Joe felt his stomach flip when he realized Nicky was teasing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Joe answered, grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky hummed, finishing up the coffee and reaching to pull the sfogliatelle from the glass case. He set them on two separate plates, then he grabbed what seemed like some sort of large salt shaker, to Joe. He learned, quickly, that it was powdered sugar when Nicky used it to dust the pastries. Then, Nicky turned to offer one of the plates and a mug of coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Joe smiled at him, accepting his coffee and plate with a little nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Joe went to lean against the counter, placing his plate and mug down, he noticed Nicky watching him. Picking his own coffee up to sip it, but watching Joe intently. Curiously. Waiting for his reaction. Joe could understand that, though he had rarely been on the receiving end of that expression. He was certain he looked exactly the same when he was waiting for a reaction to a new tattoo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe picked up the pastry, lifting it up to inhale through his nose. It smelled even better than it looked, and he let out a soft little humming noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe knew very little about baking, aside from the things he had learned from watching The Great British Baking Show. He knew only to fill a cake pan a little more than halfway, he knew bread dough should ideally double in size when proofing, and he knew that tempering chocolate seemed like way more effort than it was really worth. What he did know for sure, however, was that when he took a bite of the sfogliatelle that Nicky had made, he was certain he hadn’t ever eaten a better pastry. He rolled his eyes in that way people did when they couldn’t quite believe the food they were eating, letting out a groan that was embarrassingly close to sexual, in nature, and he bent backwards dramatically to lean against the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“'iilhi amnahani alquatu, Nicky this is the best thing I have ever eaten.” He said before even fully swallowing the bite he had taken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky chuckled, but there was pride shining in his eyes. His lips pulled up into a wide smile as he finally reached for his own pastry. He just held it in his hand, and Joe would swear his eyes softened slightly as they looked at one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Nicky began, and while his expression didn’t change much there was something a little more shy in his tone. “Do you think we might have time for that deep, philosophical exposition about your relationship with religion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe’s heart jerked in his chest, and his smile was growing as he nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay!! So, lovely piece of art here was done by lizzybizzyo over on Tumblr. Go check her out her art is amazing and this piece is amazing and I am weak. A lot of Joe's tattoos were her idea. Everything aside from the flower pot mentioned in chapter one and the galaxy tattoo was all her! <a href="https://lizzybizzyo.tumblr.com/post/641773404864839680/my-piece-for-the-oldguardbigbang2021-i-was-so">Just the art is here!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky had expected his attraction to Joe to fade. He had expected that surface level attraction to burn out as their friendship grew. But Joe was so much more than a beautiful man. He was kind and funny and found beauty in everything around him. He was complex and intelligent and accepted Nicky as he was and over a year later, that shallow draw to his handsome face had bloomed into a deep, longing desire to just be with him. To exist in this world at his side, whatever that happened to mean at the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their friend group had merged, not long after their friendship began. Joe and Andy stopped in for coffee and breakfast some mornings, Andy and Booker would discuss books and movies while Joe pondered which of the pastries he wanted to try. He liked to choose something new, every time. Nicky would walk into Quynh’s nursery to see Andy flirting with her at the counter or Joe listening to Nile explain her beekeeping to him. Nile ended up getting a honeycomb shaped design tattooed onto her wrist with a couple honey bees buzzing around it, The soft whites and yellows of the design stood out beautifully on Nile’s dark skin, and Nicky had spent far too long just examining the work as Nile showed it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, while the feelings had grown, Nicky’s panic had all but disappeared. It was so unbelievably easy to be around Joe. To act as himself around him, to be shameless in who he was because he knew Joe would accept every piece of him. He knew Joe wouldn’t mind that he tended to be quiet because Joe was just as happy to sit in comfortable silence as he was to fill it. Nicky knew he could be blunt and to the point because Joe understood it was never an attempt to brush him off. Joe understood him in a way Nicky wasn’t sure he had ever even understood himself and it was so, so easy to be around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Nicky thought that perhaps, just maybe, Joe felt the same. The way Joe smiled at him, soft and warm. The way he sat just a bit too close, the way he placed his hand on the small of Nicky’s back when they walked through a crowd or how he let their fingers brush when he handed him a drink. The late nights spent on each other’s couches, talking until they couldn’t keep their eyes open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight was one of those nights. Andy and Quynh had stumbled off together earlier in the night, after a night playing pool at the local steakhouse that was more of a bar than anything else, but they had good food and was small enough that Nicky had never felt overwhelmed by the noise. Booker brought Nile back home once they left the steak house, planning on returning to his own place to spend the night with his wife. And neither Nicky nor Joe had been quite willing to end the night, yet. So they’d returned to Nicky’s apartment above his bakery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a quaint little place, a staircase in the kitchen of the bakery leading up to the door to the apartment. A single, decently sized bedroom with large arched windows and a crucifix hung above his headboard. A kitchen he rarely used, since the one in his bakery was larger and better equipped, and a little balcony off of the living room that overlooked the small terrace of his bakery. Nicky had invited Joe back here plenty of times, in the past year. They had spent summer nights on the balcony, and colder nights in the living room. Talking about anything and everything that came to mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky went to his cupboard as soon as he stepped in, hearing Joe close the door behind them. He pulled a wine glass and a normal cup down, clicking his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want to drink?” He called over his shoulder, opening his fridge. “I brewed a pitcher of iced tea this morning. Green tea, steeped with some orange zest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds good to me.” Joe mused, shucking his jacket off as he joined Nicky in the kitchen. “What are you drinking? You grabbed a red wine glass, I’m assuming it isn’t going to be a riesling.” He teased, a glint in those dark eyes that made the corner of Nicky’s lips quirk up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a pinot I planned on having a glass of.” He said, going into the fridge to grab the pitcher of tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like always, Joe’s fingers brushed his own when Nicky handed the glass to him, their eyes meeting in the silence. There was something indiscernible and soft in Joe’s gaze, and they lingered there a moment too long before Nicky ducked his head slightly, thumbing at his lip as he turned to fill his own glass. When he turned back, Joe was still watching him. That odd look still in his eyes. Again, they lingered a moment, then Joe smiled and turned to lead the way over to the living room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settled on the couch, angling to face one another. Nicky swirled the wine in his glass before taking a sip, watching Joe all the while. And Joe watched him back. There was an odd tension in the air between them. Not uncomfortable, but heavy with a meaning Nicky wasn’t quite sure about, yet. They sat in silence for a long moment, just watching one another before Joe’s lips twitched up into another little smile and he reached to put his glass down on the coffee table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You would think we’d learn not to play against Andy.” He mused, tone light in an artificial way. Skirting around whatever was on his mind, purposely and pointedly ignoring the tension wrapped around them. Nicky licked the wine from his top lip, head tilting slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even distracted by Quynh, she’s better than both of us combined.” He answered, matching Joe’s tone, and Joe’s smile grew a little larger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fact that Quynh even </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> distract Andy is remarkable.” He said, shifting to face Nicky a little more fully. “They suit each other, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They do.” Nicky leaned to put his wine glass on the coffee table beside Joe’s glass. The movement left him close to Joe, close enough to feel his body heat, and a tingle went down Nicky’s spine. “Our destinies bring us together in odd ways, at times.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe reached out, as Nicky spoke. His fingers brushing over the tattoo on Nicky’s forearm. Over the pristine lines and vivid colors he himself had put there. The touch made Nicky’s chest go tight, and he tilted his head enough to look at Joe’s face. Their eyes met, and there was something like a question in Joe’s gaze. Nicky felt like his throat was closing up,his skin burning where Joe’s fingers were still playing gently over that tattoo. Nicky’s tongue poked out to wet his lips, and he felt himself give the slightest of nods. Barely enough to even feel, let alone see. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Joe seemed to see it, seemed to understand. His fingers pressed more firmly against Nicky’s arm, slowly pressing down until his hand was wrapped around him. Holding onto his forearm, touch still so careful despite how firm it was. It felt like they stayed there, like that, for an eternity. The seconds stretching on into days. Then, Joe’s hand moved, sliding up over Nicky’s arm. Slowly, so slowly, like he was just waiting for Nicky to tell him to stop. To put an end to this. As if Nicky would want him to stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because this felt inevitable. Whatever this was, whatever junction they seemed to have found themselves at, it felt as natural as breathing. Like right here was exactly where they were meant to be and it had only been a matter of time before they made it there. That tension that had surrounded them since they walked in was only growing, was pressing down on them until it was all Nicky could feel and even despite that, Joe’s touch on his arm made him relax. The nerves faded into a pleasant buzzing under his skin and as Joe’s hand brushed over his shoulder towards the side of his neck, Nicky lifted his hand until his fingers were wrapping around Joe’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Joe’s face as he helped guide his hand up from the side of his neck to his jaw. Joe’s hand settled into place, sweetly cupping Nicky’s face. Cradling it in his hand as if he were something precious and Nicky’s eyes flitted shut. He tilted his head into the touch, using his own hand to press Joe’s closer and he pressed his lips carefully over the vein in Joe’s wrist. The shaky, sudden breath Joe took was loud in the silence of the flat, and it made Nicky’s stomach twist up pleasantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky felt’s Joe’s fingers twitch, curling slightly against his skin and he felt himself being dragged in. Eyes still closed, he could feel Joe pressing their foreheads together, could feel the way Joe bumped their noses. He could feel the heat of Joe’s breath against his lips, could practically taste the tea on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I…” Joe breathed out, barely loud enough to hear, and Nicky leaned the rest of the way in before he could finish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky felt more than he heard the vaguely surprised, pleased noise Joe gave in response as their lips pressed together. Joe’s hand twitched slightly, then slid back so it was wrapped around the back of Nicky’s neck, instead. Holding him close, like he was afraid Nicky would pull away from him. Joe shifted closer,  and Nicky reached both hands to cup his face. Pulling him closer, tilting into the kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky had read novels, had watched movies. He had heard over and over how a first kiss was supposed to be fireworks and angels singing and a whole mess of other dramatic comparisons. But the reality of it was so different and so much better. There was a burst of excitement, of course. Adrenaline crashing through him as he tried to press as close to Joe as possible and then press closer. But more than that, he felt completely at ease. Like a puzzle piece falling into place, fitting comfortably right where he was supposed to be. The culmination of the past year of learning Joe and being learned, in return. Exciting but soothing in equal measure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe kissed him eagerly, sweetly. Like he had been doing it for a millenia and had been wanting it for even longer. And it made pleasant butterflies swirl in Nicky’s stomach even after they broke away for air. They lingered close, foreheads pressed together and noses bumping gently. So close Nicky could feel it when Joe’s lips pulled up into a smile. Joe’s free hand, the one not already playing with the baby hairs at the base of Nicky’s head, lifted up until his fingertips were brushing over Nicky’s cheek. He leaned in to brush their lips again, soft and sweet and barely even a kiss but still enough for the butterflies in Nicky’s gut to swirl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to spend the night?” Nicky asked against his lips, and Joe hummed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love to.” he answered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a month of waking up almost every morning like this, Nicky might have thought he’d get used to it. Waking up with a firm arm wrapped around him, lips pressed to the back of his neck. Held close against Joe’s chest as the sunlight streamed in through the slight gap between the curtains. Warm and comfortable, feeling Joe’s chest rising and falling against his back. He thought that maybe, he would eventually become accustomed to the feeling, but even now he couldn’t help but smile as he shifted back into Joe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt Joe smile against the back of his neck, felt him press kisses over the skin. Joe’s arm tightened around him, pulling him even closer against his chest. Nicky hummed, shifting until Joe loosened up enough to let him roll onto his back. Joe immediately lifted his hand up to sweetly cup the side of Nicky’s face, now kissing along the side of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G’morning.” He grumbled out, voice heavy and hoarse with sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky’s lips stayed tilted up as he turned to meet Joe’s soft kisses. His hand trailed up over Joe’s arm, up his forearm over the wild flowers and little dragonflies, over his elbow until his fingers were dancing over the galaxies inked into Joe’s shoulder. Over the constellations linked together with thin white lines. Corvus, eridanus and the sculptor, Joe had told him. The dark swirl of colors and planets and stars. Nicky had spent an entire night tracing the constellations with his lips, kissing over each of the lines, over each of the stars. Now, Nicky traced those beautiful lines with his fingers, the same way Joe was reaching to trace over the hickeys he had left on Nicky’s collar, the night before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kissed one another, soft and slow and deep as they basked in the comfort of a lazy morning together. Lingering there for a few long moments, just pressed against one another as they kept meeting back for another kiss every time they thought they were going to pull away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need a cup of coffee.” Nicky murmured between soft kisses, unable to hold back his smile as Joe just kissed him again.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” Joe answered, though he made no move to let Nicky out of bed. Instead, he kissed him again and Nicky laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few more minutes - and a few more kisses - before Nicky was able to pull himself free from Joe’s arms. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate him, the way he laid out across the bed, stretching in the sun as the sheets slid down over his hips. Nicky hummed in the back of his throat, smiling softly as he gave himself that moment to look at him. He meant to slip out of the room, but he ended up stepping right back over to the bed. Dragged closer by the magnetic force Joe had over him. Leaning over him to kiss him once more, feeling Joe smile against his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be back with coffee.” He murmured into his mouth, nudging their noses sweetly. Even still, he lingered for one more long kiss before dragging himself away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stretched his arms up over his head as he made his way to the door, grinning when he heard Joe give an appreciative little whistle. It took more effort than he was willing to admit to keep going. He’d never get back out of that bed if he went back, now, he knew that. It was a lot to handle, sometimes. Hard to process, to know he had someone who could make him want to waste the entire day in bed with them. For a long time, Nicky had been resigned to a life alone. He had friends, of course, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever find love. Wasn’t sure he would ever want someone so much his very soul ached with it, he hadn’t genuinely believed it was possible for him to love someone as deeply, as viscerally, as</span>
  <em>
    <span> easily</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he loved Joe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had never occurred to Nicky that love would be easy. Simple. As natural as breathing. He had always heard how to make love work you had to put in the work, how you needed to put in effort for a relationship to thrive. And that was true, of course it was, there was compromise and communication, they needed to learn one another and understand one another. But he had never realized that all of that work, all of that effort, could be so easy. That it would come to him as easily as rolling out dough. It took effort but it was all but muscle memory, after the first two or three times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky grabbed his tee shirt from where he had left it on the couch, the night before, tugging it over his head. He made his way down the stairs, already trying to decide which of the pastries he’d be bringing back up with him. When he opened the door from the stairwell to the kitchen, he was not expecting anything other than his normal, empty kitchen. What he found was a little old lady examining one of his cupboards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her back was turned to him, hunched just slightly. Her white and silver hair was tied up in a tight bun on the back of her head, and the shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders was a faded maroon color. Nicky’s brows furrowed, and he stepped further into his kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” He began, ready to politely but firmly request this woman get out of his kitchen. But she turned when he spoke, and Nicky’s eyes went wide well before she was fully facing him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nona?” He immediately straightened up as he said it, shoulders lowering and holding his head a bit higher. Fixing his posture as if by instinct. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlotta smiled, bright and wide, as she turned to face her grandson. She stepped over to him, firm and steady despite her age, and she reached towards his face. Nicky immediately leaned closer to her, allowing her to lovingly cup his face in her hands as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nicolo, Il mio dolce ragazzo.” She cooed at him, and Nicky couldn’t help but melt a bit. Tension he hadn’t even realized was there completely fading as his grandmother pulled him close. He immediately lifted his hands to rest on her arms, holding her close as she fussed over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nona, why are you here?” He asked, the shock evident in his voice. Not cruel, the way he held her close and leaned into her was proof enough that he was happy to see her, but certainly surprised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has been years, Nicky.” Carlotta said, in that tone of voice that distinctly said, in the kindest way possible, that he was being an idiot. “Am I not allowed to come see my grandson?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky shook his head, carefully pulling himself away from her. He smiled at her, hands lingering on her for a long moment before he gestured vaguely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was about to make coffee, do you want a cup?” He asked her, already going to the coffee pot. She hummed, and the sound made Nicky feel like a child in her bakery, doing whatever tasks she asked of him. It made his chest feel tight, made him feel like he was home again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky had always been close to his grandmother. His love of baking had come from her, from standing on a chair at her counter, learning how to knead dough and cutting out shapes for cookies. Asking question after question until he understood a kitchen more than he understood himself. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she had decided to come visit him on a whim, and it certainly shouldn’t have surprised him that he felt as if she’d been there for years, already. Natural, like she belonged here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set up the coffee pot as he listened to Carlotta wander his kitchen. Though, ‘wander’ was perhaps too casual a term. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was judging, though not necessarily in a negative way. Checking his tools, his ingredients, how he organized everything and what he had prepared to go out or prepared to start using. He could tell from the noises she made, the little hums and tongue clicks, when she approved or disapproved of something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But one thing about his Nona that Nicky had always appreciated was that, even when she disapproved, she knew when it was her place to comment. And while a very large part of Nicky would insist it was always her place to offer her opinion when it came to him, he knew she disagreed. As far as Carlotta was concerned, this was not her bakery and therefore, her opinion was irrelevant. He was certain he knew which things she disapproved of, anyway. He knew she disliked keeping measuring spoons in the drawer instead of hanging up - though, she hadn’t needed measuring spoons in decades and Nicky only used them for a handful of specific reasons, anyway - and he was certain she had some intense thoughts about how much space he was wasting with the organizer his piping tips were stored in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, she didn't mention it. She simply examined his kitchen, making little noises that Nicky wasn't sure she even noticed she was making. Nicky didn't mind it, though. It was comforting, in a way, to know his Nona was exactly as she had always been. Knowing she still firmly believed in hanging up her measuring utensils and still used the same storage set up for her knives that Nicky was using. It made Nicky feel like, even if he wasn’t back in Italy, he wasn’t losing touch with his family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled Joe’s favorite mug out of the cupboard, then his own. Then he grabbed a third, for his Nona, and Carlotta gave one more little hum. This was most certainly on purpose, a noise she was very aware of making, and Nicky tensed. He felt his throat close up, knowing exactly what was coming before she opened her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why three mugs, Nicky?” She asked, and he didn’t have to turn to look at her to know she was tilting her head. “Nicky, is there a young lady waiting for you? Have I arrived while you have a guest?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Nicky’s chest went tight. Unpleasantly tight, his heart up in his throat as he realized all at once what was happening. His Nona was here, in his kitchen in the bakery he owned. And Joe was upstairs, half naked in his bed and waiting for a cup of coffee. Nicky had a boyfriend, upstairs waiting for him and his Nona was standing down here with him. His Nona who he had never told his sexuality to. This woman who had taught him everything he needed to know to run his own bakery and who he had never opened up to for fear of disappointing her. So terrified of letting her down that he had hidden the fact that he was gay from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because Nicky remembered those conversations, remembered sitting in terrified silence as he heard his parents and Nona speaking about people who were ‘like that’. How sad they were for them, how they should pray for them, in hopes of them finding their way again. Never inherently cruel, never condemning them but disapproving in no uncertain terms. Nicky remembered it making him feel so sick he would have to escape to his bedroom, huddled under the blankets praying to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had come a long way from that scared teenager who didn’t understand who he was or why. But standing there, realizing he had to tell his Nona - his hero - that he was gay, he suddenly felt exactly as he did back then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky stood there for far longer than he realized. Tense, hand hovering in the air between the cupboard and the counter with that mug clenched tightly in his hand. So lost in his own panic that he didn’t notice the way Carlotta examined him. The way she stepped closer when she realized he was panicking, the way her eyes trailed down his arm and locked onto that beautiful tattoo on his forearm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took all of five seconds for recognition to light up in Carlotta’s eyes. For her to process that cross with its rainbow scarf draped over, and what that might mean for her grandson. She hesitated briefly, then lifted her gaze to Nicky’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Or perhaps a young man?” She offered, tentative. Quiet. Nicky inhaled sharply through his nose, nearly dropping the mug as his head snapped to the side to look her in the eyes. And it hurt her, deep in her heart, to see the fear in his eyes. To see him look like the child she used to hold in her lap instead of the strong, independent man he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlotta let out a breath, jaw clenching briefly as she swallowed thickly. She reached to carefully take the mug out of Nicky’s hand, placing it on the counter before taking his hand in both of hers. She squeezed it gently, feeling her heart breaking as Nicky’s eyes got wet. She dropped her gaze to that tattoo, again. Brushing her fingers over it before going back to holding his hand in hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nona,”  His voice cracked as he breathed it out. Lip trembling just enough to see and she immediately reached her hand up to cup his cheek lovingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Nicolo, mio dolce angelo, what have we done to you?” She said it quietly, her own voice cracking and Nicky shook his head. “How long have you known, passerotto?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky licked at his lips, feeling himself shaking just barely. Struggling to keep from completely falling apart. For a moment, he didn’t quite understand what she was saying to him. Didn’t quite realize that look in her eyes wasn’t sadness over what he was, but over how he was so afraid of her knowing. All at once, a mess of emotion Nicky couldn’t quite decipher crashed over him and he felt tears overflow and roll down his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was fourteen.” He answered, because what was the point of trying to pretend, anymore? He’d already all but confirmed it by his reaction. And even if he hadn’t, wasn’t this the point of the tattoo? So he could stop hiding, stop pretending. It was terrifying, far scarier than he thought it had any right to be, but he needed to say it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Carlotta just nodded, brushing his tears away as she smiled softly at him. Seeing that smile made something in Nicky break. The last wall holding back the wave of emotion falling apart as he tried to smother the little sob he let out as he leaned into her hand. Carlotta just shifted closer, cradling his cheek in one hand and squeezing Nicky’s hand in her other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Nicky said, voice almost too quiet to hear through his own tears, and Carlotta squeezed his hand a little tighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could never, Nicky.” She insisted, voice just as firm as when she was instructing him on what to do. “And I am so sorry for making you feel that you would.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlotta took a long, slow breath. Trying to ground herself so she could continue. Because she needed him to know. She needed him to understand that she loved him, she loved him with everything she was and nothing could change that. And she was suddenly struck with the realization that she had acted in a way that made him question that, that the things she had said and done had been what put her grandson in this situation, to begin with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. She was going to have to change that, then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nicolo, you are exactly as you have always been.” She continued, thumb brushing sweetly over his cheek. “And I would not ask for you to be any different. I know I have said things and I have done things that are wrong. We are meant to offer acceptance and I was offering judgement, instead. I love you, Nicolo. Nothing will change that. Your happiness, your safety, and your health are all that matter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as stupid as it was, in that moment all Nicky could think was how much like his grandmother he was. He always had been. She was just as to the point and succinct as he was, getting her point across as quickly and coherently as possible. And having her say this, in such a way that warranted no arguments, it made Nicky feel like he could finally breathe. Like a weight he had forgotten was even there because it had never quite gone away was finally lifted off him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too.” He ended up choking out, and Carlotta smiled at him as she tugged him down to press her lips to his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lingered there a long moment, as if she hoped she could project all of her apologies and regret and love onto him by holding him close. When she did finally pull away, so patted Nicky’s cheek sweetly before her smile grew a little bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” she began. “Who is this young man, then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky let out a surprised little chuckle, ducking his head as Carlotta pulled away and reaching to brush his thumb under his nose. He could feel a flush rising up on the apples of his cheeks, that tightness in his chest shifting into something much more pleasant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...His name is Joe.” he said, and there was something so unbelievably good in being able to say it. In telling his Nona the name of the man he was dating. And he felt absolutely high when Carlotta brightened up, when she smiled at him, excited for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And he is good to you?” She demanded, and the fact that she was beaming did nothing to hide how she would have no qualms about killing him if Nicky was dissatisfied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good.” He assured her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky was certain she had more to say. He was sure she already had a list of questions to interrogate him with. But, the stairs beyond the half open door creaked as Joe made his way down them. Nicky could already tell from the sound that Joe was still barefooted, his feet making a soft noise as he stepped heavily down onto each step. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nicky? What’s taking so long, the bed’s too big to be alone for that long.” Joe mused as he pushed his way through the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was squinting in that way he did when he first woke up. His pajama pants were slung low on his hips, crooked like he hadn’t been paying attention as he tugged them on. His arm was lifted up so he could rub at the side of his head, the position proudly displaying the scimitar inked down the length of his side and the elegant scrawl of poetry down his ribs. His favorite poem by Rumi, one he had whispered into Nicky’s ear more than once as they had danced on Nicky’s balcony or made love in Joe’s bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped short when he noticed that Nicky was not alone. He looked at Carlotta, then at Nicky. It didn’t take him long to put it together, between the resemblance between the two and having seen his share of pictures of Carlotta since he’d met Nicky. His eyes widened slightly, and he met Nicky’s eyes. Clearly panicked, unsure, because he could see the red in Nicky’s eyes, could see how he’d been crying just moments before. He opened his mouth, struggling to find something to say, but Carlotta smiled brightly at him and patted at Nicky’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he is very handsome, Nicolo!” She said, and Joe felt very much like a rug had been ripped from under him. Even if the bashful little chuckle Nicky offered made his stomach twist up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He licked at his lips, self consciously adjusting his pajama pants so they weren’t quite as crooked as he took a small step closer. Carlotta seemed to take that as her invitation to walk up to him. She reached up to grab his chin, the movement looking much more harsh than it actually was, and she moved his head from side to side to get a good look at him. He let her move him, and he couldn’t help but grin when he saw Nicky’s apologetic wince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Strong jaw. And a beautiful smile.” Carlotta mused, almost to herself. As if she were creating a mental checklist. Joe suspected she was, and based on the intensity and sharpness in her eyes, he also suspected she had many more thoughts she wasn’t stating out loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She released his chin, then grabbed his wrist to examine his hand and Joe’s smile just grew. He wasn’t sure what he might have expected out of Carlotta, but this was somehow everything he had thought she’d be while also being a complete surprise. She clicked her tongue, spreading his fingers out a bit and Joe’s hand twitched when her nails accidentally tickled across his palm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And large hands. Questo funzionerà.” She said, nodding once, and Joe finally let out a little laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel like I’m being appraised for sale.” He said, raising a brow towards Nicky. Nicky just shrugged helplessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I apologize, I have been very rude. Carlotta Di Genova.” Carlotta smiled at him when he turned his attention back to her, patting his cheek sweetly like she might do to Nicky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly speaking, Carlotta made it easy to relax. Seeing how Nicky seemed more or less okay - his face was red, eyes puffy, but he didn’t actually seem upset. - mixed with the casual but firm way Carlotta regarded him made it easy for Joe to smile and offer his hand to her. When she took his hand, he lifted it to brush his lips over her knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joe Al Kaysani. It is a pleasure to meet you, signora.” He said. Immediately, Carlotta’s eyes sparkled and her smile grew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And a gentleman, as well. Nicolo, you have done well!” She announced, beaming as she turned to look at Nicky once more. Joe’s own smile grew, and continued to grow when Nicky caught his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did.” Nicky agreed, and Joe’s chest went tight. His stomach dropping like he was in a free fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” Carlotta continued, clapping her hands together and sounding much more firm now. “Do you know how to make a biscotti?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh…” Joe blinked, then blinked again as he tried to process the question. “...No?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlotta huffed, then gestured vaguely in a way that Joe was certain was supposed to be a command of some sort, though he had no idea what the command actually was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come. I will teach you. Nicolo, portami una ciotola e gli ingredienti.” She demanded, and Nicky was moving before she even finished, pulling a mixing bowl from one of his cupboards and putting it on the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlotta waved Joe along as she went over to the counter, and Joe blinked one more time before he smiled. Baking had never been his medium of choice, but this? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could get used to this.</span>
</p>
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